


Going out of focus

by ca_te



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-05
Updated: 2010-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 29th April 2009. It was my first attempt with this pairing which I then came to love so much. Written both from Matt's and Mello's POV. Thanks to kispexi2 for the beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Going out of focus

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 29th April 2009. It was my first attempt with this pairing which I then came to love so much. Written both from Matt's and Mello's POV. Thanks to kispexi2 for the beta.

My eyes are going out of focus. They scream for rest, they want to be closed but I can't. Not till Mello gets back. I light another cigarette and continue following the car speeding up on the screen.

I smile around the butt of the cigarette 'cause yesterday we bought a car, finally! I've always wanted a car just for me. Before there were only stolen ones, and bruises on my fingertips.

I like this car, firstly because is red and then because it's elegant. Yep it's great, and he bought it. I try to trick myself into thinking that he did it just for me, but then I look up at the screens he has told me to watch and I know it's not like that.

I sink a little bit more in the worn out couch. The beeping fills my ears again and I feel safer now, a bit calmer although this mind of mine always wanders back to him like an idiotic dog.

 

I walk slowly along the street; it's almost deserted. Matt must be worried but in the end I'm no more than a balloon without ballast. When I feel like it I just stay on my own.

The taste of chocolate and alcohol still lingers in my mouth and I squeeze the cross of my rosary as I look at the airplane that is passing over my head, leaving its white line behind.

I wonder if I'll be able to leave a trace behind me. Not just chocolate wrappers, marks on his skin and mistakes.

I concentrate on the sound my shoes make against the asphalt. It's a dried sound. Like a dry sponge over a plate. I push my hands deeper in my thigh pockets, as cars pass by. I wonder if he liked the car. There are days when only his smile can help me. It shouldn't be like this, I know, but I'm a weak sinner, God knows that.

 

I can hear the key scraping inside the door lock. I bite my lower lip and try to ignore the "game over" flashing in front of me, as if it is laughing at me. I put the goggles back in their place. Screening my eyes from what may reach too deep, as if he hasn't already rummaged all around inside the little, strange thing I am. Of course I let him, but only him, him and his white hands.

I throw the butt of the cigarette into the glass of coke standing on the table. I watch it sink in the brown liquid. Guess I eat and drink too many shitty things. Oh well, doesn't matter, seeing that I'll probably will die of cancer or because of Kira. I wish I could kill him with these hands for all he took away from us with his very existence. Not that we would be allowed to be normal anyway but…

 

I smell the smoke and I can feel my whole body relax. Although I hate to admit it, it's like this; over the years, after we were thrown out into this mess of world, he has become a synonym of home. His fucking cigarettes, his freaking stripes, and that smile of his. He could do so much more in his life and still he chose to stay here, by my side, although it means a hole of apartment, blood and shouting. That's why, I suppose, I get angry at him sometimes, 'cause he choose this for me, when I don't deserve it. I deserve to be alone, like Cain. I convinced myself of this a long time ago, and not even L's caresses could wash this sticky feeling away.

\- I'm home.

They say that in the movies. Not that I think that they are real life but, you know, searching shelter from what is outside, outside the little bubble me and Matt create, it's not so bad in the end. It's not like we hurt anyone except for ourselves. He lets me hurt him and I think I let him hurt me, 'cause yes it will hurt like hell to be separated from him one day.

 

I turn my head, in the gloomy light of our den, a grin stretching my lips as I think that yes in the end we are like stray dogs. Both me and him. The difference is that he uses his teeth more than I do. Almost without thinking I bring my hand up to my neck and trace the contours of his last mark. It's amazing how I feel the pain only for few seconds, then comes the pleasure. Guess he knows me better than I know myself. In a way he takes care of me.

\- Welcome home.

He switches on the light of the kitchen. I can hear the sound of water splashing on the plates in the sink.

\- Why you didn't wash the plates?

\- Didn't feel like it.

 

I smile at the plates. I guess it's alright like this. I think I would be sad if Matt changed too much. In the end we don't need to change. A part of me already knows that we won't need to grow up, so it's okay to be like this, to indulge in who we are now, in what we do now. I take two glasses and fill them with water. I know he is so lazy that he probably hasn't drink at all since this morning.

I plop on the couch by his side and hand him the glass.

He looks at me and then takes it. I don't actually need to hear a "thank you". He shifts a bit and comes closer.

And it's normal like this. I really don't know what this thing between us is, it just is and I don't mind, 'cause in the end I think I wouldn't allow anyone to come this close and I know it's the same for him.

I remember the first time we ended up in bed together. He put his hands on my chest and said " Do you think I can take them off?", his index pointing at his goggles. I think I made a weird face 'cause he became red, so red. Then I kissed him and just said "yes".

I feel something warm twirling in my stomach at the thought. I put the glass on the table and let my hand find its way to his stomach. I begin to caress it, slowly, drawing circles over the stripes. He shifts again and lifts his t-shirt a bit. His skin is so pale, almost like a ghost.

 

I try to hold back the moans that already are threatening to escape my mouth. He leans forwards and begins to leave kisses on my stomach. I can feel the silver cross of his rosary brush my skin lightly.

\- M-mello.

I feel my cheeks become hotter. How is it possible that I call his name, without even thinking of it? It's like as I don't need any brain impulse to call him. He bites my skin and I gulp, searching somewhere, everywhere for air. I let my hand tangle in his hair. He looks up at me and smiles. His smiles are always like this, so wicked, almost grins, but I treasure them, 'cause I know Mello has still to learn how to smile properly. Sometimes I hope we'll have enough time for him to learn, but then I think of L, of what happened to him, and I bite hard on my lip and just wish he could make love to me every minute of the days we still have.

He continues looking at me.

 

I know I don't need to ask, but every time I look at him I see that little boy from our first days at Whammy's, and I feel like I must ask.

\- Can I?

My heart jumps when I see one of his smiles appear.

\- You have to.

I slowly remove his goggles.

And smile against his neck as his moans fill my ears. Matt moans in a way that makes me feel the most important person in the world. At the beginning is almost a mumble and then it grows deeper, and it's like his very core is calling at me in the end. And all I can do is whisper in his ear, those three words I sworn to God I wouldn't have said to anyone 'cause what they leave behind is only pain. Still I can't stop my mouth to form them, my vocal chords to give them sound.

 

I can feel my eyes become watery, is like this every time he says it. He doesn't say it often and when he says those words he always sounds so deep and yet mismatched like a chalk on a blackboard. This is our scrambled kind of love, and I thank God or whoever is up there or down there, for it as I feel him cum inside of me and I cling a bit more to his shoulders.

I'm glad to feel his weight on my chest, his skin sticking to mine. The first time we made love I didn't want to close my eyes afterwards 'cause I had this stupid fear that it all could be just a dream. But the morning after he was there, and he is here also now, his hair brushing against my skin as he shifts to look at me. I smile, 'cause it's the only thing I can give him, beside my presence at his side, like a loyal dog.

I look at the ceiling, at the stripes that the car lights leave on it. It's stupid, it's childish, it cliché but I still want the time to stop, to stop now. I hold my breath.

 

I know he is playing that game again. He used to do it also when he was little, I always said him to stop, that it was stupid, and childish, but he didn't stop. Guess this is one of the reasons why I like him so much. He is loyal but still he remains himself. When I met him again, after all those years apart, it was in a little alley, it was sunset, it was getting darker. I saw this figure, standing outside a bar and he was smoking a cigarette holding it with his thumb and index and he was rocking a bit on his feet. My heart freaking jumped like crazy, 'cause I had no doubt it was him.

I lift my body up, and lean on my elbow.

\- So. Do you like the car?

He looks at me, one of those 5-years-old grins.

\- A lot!

And he nods while saying it and his red hair fall in front of his eyes. I brush them away.

\- Glad to know that. And now go and take my pc.

I grin as I see the disappointed look on his face.

\- No.

\- What?

\- I said no. You'll stay here with me now!

I chuckle.

\- You know? You turn me on when you act like this.

 

He is too much for me, really! I lean forward and kiss his lips, they are soft and a bit dry. I slowly lick them. When we break apart I let my gaze wanderer from his nose to his eyes, then to his hair. He seems to me like a illustration in a book, a miniature. He is my precious miniature. I feel my cheeks become hotter, I know that I have to quit this stupid romanticism, that he hates it, but I can't, and I keep it all for me, locked up. This is how it goes.

 

I can understand that he is lost in his thoughts, the green of his eyes is fogged. I press my body more against his, he is so warm. I remain silence and begin to touch him again, 'cause I need to touch him, to make him scream and moan in my ear, 'cause I want him to be mine and me to be his.

And I don't care about anything else, I don't care it it's right or if it's wrong.

 

'Cause, in the end, who are we, so scrambled, so lost, to tell what is right and what is wrong?

'Cause, in the end, why do we have to care?


End file.
